The Cure
by The Frisky Firelily
Summary: Sequel to The Program. The crew are alive, but burnt, bruised, and broken. Jayne wants a cure, he needs a cure. Or so he thinks.
1. Chapter 1

**TITLE: **The Cure

**DISCLAIMER: **Not mine.

**A/N: **This story is the sequel to my story The Program…**PLEASE don't read** this without reading that. You'll think I'm insane.

Well…more insane than necessary.

To everyone who has waited, supported, reviewed and PMd…thank you for your patience. Let's get goin' ;)

For my Irishman and my Rafia.

* * *

_**A voice said, Look me in the stars  
And tell me truly, men of earth,  
If all the soul-and-body scars  
Were not too much to pay for birth.**_

**-Robert Frost  
**

* * *

**2517 – One Week After The Miranda Broadwave.**

**Nowhere.**

His front door is plain, non-descript. It blends seamlessly into the building's façade; it is every other door, he is every other occupant, a large wall of nothingness and people going about their business. Had he less self-control, had he been more inclined to indulge something so base as 'habit', he would allow his left hand to skim over the sword on his back.

Reassurance.

He has no need of something so primal as reassurance; he knows his sword is there, perfectly cleaned. The tang of blood in his nose nothing more than memory now, metallic and sharp and screaming of violence but not truly there.

Were he more inclined towards humour, perhaps he would see some parallels between that scent and himself.

He lets himself inside. The apartment has a single bed against the far wall, a small kitchenette that has never been used by the current occupant, and the standard toilet-to-sink in the wall, the basin appearing when the toilet itself is pushed back. Here, much like on spaceships, this concealment is as much for space as it is for modesty.

Spaceships.

He'd grown up on spaceships. There had been a mother, a father, a sibling. There had been laughter and then loss.

The memories didn't sting. They didn't create any kind of emotion within him. It wasn't that he was incapable, he was no sociopath, but his self-control was flawless.

Or, at least, it had been.

"_You should know there's no shame in this."_

Twice in the last few days those words had made their way from his lips. The first time they were a triumph, allowing him to provide comfort and reassurance that the death by sword Dr Matthias suffered was honourable.

Honor above all else.

He had been a different person then. He had been righteous, his faith had been unshakable, unhesitating. He was but a loyal servant of a great empire seeking a better world, so pure in his belief and desire that he had no claim on the future himself.

He just wanted a better world.

"_You should know there's no shame in this. You're doing remarkable things. But you're fighting a war you've already lost."_

The grey eyes should have held fear or possibly even passion. They simply held his steadily, unshaking, unhesitating. Those eyes held belief.

He knew how dangerous belief could be.

"_Well, I'm known for that."_

The last five words he had heard before his world was changed. Before that Captain had gotten the drop on him, before he'd been forced to receive Miranda's vile message, the truth behind the Alliance who had been given his faith.

"_Sir, do we have an order?"_

"_Stand down. Stand down. It's finished…we're finished."_

And he was.

He was completely and entirely unmade. He allowed himself thirty seconds of reflection. His parents dead, his attempts to make a life on the street. Being caught pickpocketing. Waiting in lockup when he'd been offered a chance by a man in the finest suit he'd ever seen. The training facilities, never knowing his location, until finally he was given his position within the Alliance, given his title.

The Operative.

One of many, provided to the Alliance for conditions known only to the powers that be.

When he had seen that video it began; he was split into two, then four, then divided and divided and divided until finally he wasn't split but shattered.

His world, his faith, his everything crumbled around him.

Mal had told him only hours earlier that he didn't want to see him ever again.

The Operative smiled as he remembered his own words.

"_There is nothing left to see."_

He drew his sword carefully, taking a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship, the perfect balance, the line of the blade. He knelt and laid it in front of him, drawing his short blade from its sheath. The sword could rest now; it was his dagger's turn. He closed his eyes a moment, thinking back to a time before this, a life before this.

His mother smiling as his father sang loudly, poorly, over the stove.

He opened his eyes again, taking in the empty room, the empty life in which he was to find honour one last time.

He positioned himself carefully, following rituals that were ancient long before man took to space. The hands holding the sword were still, there was no tremble, only calm. This was his final return.

There was no shame in this, in a man's death, and honourable man.

He would take whatever honour he had left in this life and pray to make for a better one.

He exhaled, allowing himself one final indulgence.

Reassurance.

"There is no shame in this."

He moved swiftly, lifting the blade just high enough to achieve the leverage he required.

**BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT .**

The sound cut through his calm, his peace, his serenity.

It jolted him from his place of honour, from his confidence.

The comm unit at his belt buzzed again, and he permitted himself an irritated huff as he glanced down at the number.

He froze.

When he pressed answer the voice and face that filled the room were equally smug and kindly.

It made him sick.

"Stay your hand, Operative."

He didn't reply, and the handsome man in the perfect suit didn't seem to care. "We have use for you yet."

The projected image changed, photos, scientific briefs, reports flashing in the emptiness of his apartment. A video played, one he thought he knew properly. The shattered remains of his honour, his Self, were reduced to rapidly cooling embers as his chest tightened.

The handsome man in his perfect suit was back, face calm and patient.

"And what am I?"

One well groomed eyebrow arched curiously.

"What part do I play in this twisted game?"

Thin lips twitched with something equally dark and amused.

"Contingency plan."

* * *

**2520 – Present Day**

He woke up alone, the huge bed still scented by her hair, a warm patch beside him urging him to go in search of the owner.

The scent of fresh coffee permeated the air, rich and revitalising as he moved down the hallway. He could smell the remnants of rain through the open window, though the sun was beginning to warm the forest, humid and reeking a freshness and life.

Jayne stepped into the kitchen of the small cottage. Natalia, his daughter, was playing peek a boo with Mattie while she waited for her breakfast. Huge brown eyes looked up at him, his two year old reaching out her arms with a sweet smile of greeting. He loved that smile, she saved it just for him. He scooped her up, pressing a kiss against her head and looking to the woman behind the counter.

River's hair was loose and tousled, slim form concealed by a pilfered shirt that hung partway down her thighs. She was pouring coffee, balancing on one foot as the other came up to scratch her knee. Morning sunlight illuminated her skin, and he couldn't help the smile that crossed his face, knowing why her eyes were both tired and satisfied.

She caught the tail end of the thought, and as she turned she shot him a decidedly wicked smile.

Memories of the night before, pale skin and silky hair and the taste of cherries filling his mind. Sighs and moans and the occasional bout of quiet laughter as they tried to keep the noise down so their daughter stayed asleep. The afterglow of passion, her fingers trailing over his back, his mouth tasting sweat against her hipbones.

Perfect.

He smirked back, sitting down at the table and scratching Mattie behind the ears. Tali babbled happily about her dreams as the kitchen became perfumed with the scent of eggs and salty bacon. River crossed the floor, bare feet silent, and he took a second to appreciate the expanse of lean thigh exposed by the movement.

Another wicked smile as she set coffee in front of him, leaning down to press a kiss against his jaw.

His girls, his perfect family. The bright sun streaming through the windows created a warm patch where Mattie seemed determined to nap, his daughter was laughing as the dog's tail twitched in time with the crackle of bacon. The scent of clean linen and cinnamon filled his nostrils as River ran one hand down his arm, and the sunlight glinted from matching bands of silver. Long fingers trailed over bare skin.

Bare.

He stared.

Something was wrong.

His arms hadn't been bare for years now. His skin, darkly tanned, was missing the coiling black ink that adorned most of his body now.

He should be covered in the evidence of his kills.

He looked at his hand again, now bare of the ring.

The smell of eggs, bacon, sun warmed earth and clean linen all faded. The sound of his daughter playing quietly with Mattie halted entirely. He looked up at River, her eyes no longer filled with sensual warmth or affectionate exhaustion. A single tear slipped down her cheek, the clear liquid turning to blood when it hit the table.

Her finger was now also bare.

She shook her head. "It's just an object; it doesn't mean what you think."

Thunder rolled overhead and as lightening flashed the scene disappeared.

He woke up alone, narrow mattress on the floor after the nightmares had led him to destroy one too many bed frames.

Outside the rain was buffeting the forest, lightening occasionally flashing overhead. The dark clouds did nothing to dispel the heat, humid and suffocating in the tiny cottage where he slept. He ran one hand through his short hair, pausing to study the lines of the tattoos he now saw. Marks of death, kills carved in permanently, measurements of time tracked the only way his blood thirsty mind had known. Months of insanity, vengeance, hatred all inked into his skin for the world to see.

He thought about his dream, quiet happiness bare of bloodshed.

He thought of matching bands of metal.

And wished, more than anything, he could sleep forever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **The Cure

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**A/N: **Thank you for the amazing welcome back! So glad to be writing again. This chapter is a monster, normally they'll be more manageable. Thanks to everyone who trusted me with this story last time, I hope you'll continue to do so. And check out the related one-shot, **The Snow on Purgatum**. There's always hope.

* * *

Connor hissed in irritation as a serving girl sent his beer shooting along the bar, throwing a glare her way as liquid splattered his hand. He turned to examine the room, looking for his contact. Purgatum's heat leeched through the walls of the bar, casting a haze over the inhabitants. Didn't matter if you had grown up on Purgatum; the middle of the day could still suck the air right out of your lungs.

He sipped his beer, wanting to enjoy it before it became as warm as the rest of the room.

The bar doors swung open and he looked up to see Reynolds entering along with part of his crew. Two years ago they'd first touched down on Purgatum, two years since they'd saved all those babies from the facility determined to experiment. For the first few months they could do no wrong; the townsfolk near the House of Night sending gifts, offering tables at every bar and beds at every brothel. The offers were rarely taken, Connor could remember only one incident when a mechanic hadn't been able to refuse a strawberry, and slowly the generosity withdrew.

Slowly people stopped feeling so grateful.

The law men in town had left the crew alone, but in the last few months rumour had spread. Connor had been a young'un when Jayne Cobb first left Purgatum, but he remembered the stories as well as anyone. Adults had said his name with the same derisive tone they used to describe Vera Cobb, the fierce House Mistress who ran the House of Night.

Whore's get.

Hell spawn.

Nasty words they justified because Jayne Cobb was a nasty man.

Connor had never been convinced that Jayne had been the great threat the townsfolk believed. Sure the boy was big, and had something of a temper, but he'd never started a fight without provocation. Other boys threw around the same nasty words their parents did, and Connor couldn't blame him for defending his Ma, or being stronger and faster than his peers. Besides, ever since Vera had drawn him from school he never fought with the other boys. In fact, they rarely saw him at all. Rumour had it Vera let him run wild in the forest with the massive wolfhound she kept. Connor, having seen the way Jayne's eyes would cloud over during fights, knowing that the only thing that ended them was Mattie's loud bark of warning, wouldn't have been surprised if there'd been some truth to that rumour.

Connor's Pa, a law man, had come home looking confused the day Jayne Cobb fled Purgatum. Said he didn't think they should have been arresting the boy in the first place. Said Vera and the girls claimed not to know where he went. Said the other law men saw guilt in his flee.

Connor's Pa had a different theory. Didn't seem to matter what the other law men said; Connor's Pa had believed Jayne wasn't the worst thing on Purgatum. His father was old now, but after the destruction of The Facility two years ago, he had pointed out Cobb's arrival and subsequent heroics. He believed there was something wrong with Jayne Cobb, but that maybe this didn't mean he was evil.

And because his Pa had believed it, Connor believed it.

Still, Cobb was nowhere to be seen today. Today Reynolds was flanked by Zoe and the girl. Slim and calm with eyes the colour of whisky, she rarely spoke. Connor wasn't fool enough to think that meant she wasn't listening.

He wasn't surprised; Cobb had been at the last meeting, and it was always one or the other.

Never at the same time.

He'd heard a rumour once that she had a little one, and a while back he'd meant to ask her about it at a meeting. Before his mouth had formed the question she'd locked him with dark, dangerous eyes, and he'd taken the unspoken order as gospel.

Never ask.

Never.

The Captain was also accompanied by Simon, their surgeon. Connor was the medical contact for their runs, and he'd grown to appreciate Dr Tam's quick, efficient examinations of the current issues on Purgatum. They would discuss necessary equipment and supplies, as well as plan ahead for seasonal changes.

Reynolds had established the run between Purgatum and Persephone about a year and a half ago, when it became apparent that the townsfolk were quick to forget heroes and fast to deny strangers. The run allowed for medical supplies, mail drops, and the occasional special delivery to be made. Whoever his contact on Persephone was, Reynolds refused to name him, but the produce was always good, and Purgatum always needed additional supplies.

Connor stood, extending a hand. "Cap'n."

Reynolds shook it, offering him a quick smile. Really more of a twitch of the lips. The man didn't smile much. There were a few lines around his eyes that suggested he'd once smiled a whole lot more. But he didn't smile now.

None of them did. But the eyes were always the same. Sharp, careful, cautious, wary. Even after a year and a half of business those eyes never changed from the barest hint of greeting.

As Connor took them through the latest list of medical needs he let his eyes wander over the crew. When he came to the girl, River, he watched as her right hand subconsciously began to rub the forth finger on her left.

And he wondered what she was looking for.

* * *

_Something heavy thudded behind them and they turned, seeing Simon look down at the body with its throat slit. He clasped his knife a little tighter, and Kaylee fought the urge to cry at the cold look in his eyes. _

"_Let's go."_

_The sounds of children crying filled the air, wrenching at their hearts as the little ones pled for their parents._

_Gunshots were loud._

_Baby tears were louder._

Kaylee Tam starts awake in the early morning. Simon was out with the Captain on business, and she's grateful for the chance to wipe the sweat from her brow. Another nightmare, another relived memory. That day she had seen all of Simon. She had seen the vicious killer he could be when provoked, the cold and calculating doctor who had saved Book and those children, the loving brother who had seen his sister through labour. When the dust finally settled, when they realized there was air to breathe once more, Simon had slept for a week.

The second he woke up he had demanded Book marry them.

_They'd been lucky. The afternoon had cooled slightly, so by the time she entered the fairy lit courtyard of the House of Night the air had lost its summer haze. She smiled as Inara tucked one last wildflower behind her ear, blushing as she moved to where Simon stood, grinning. She slipped her hand into his, smiling to herself as she felt him relax._

_She wasn't going anywhere._

Kaylee, knowing every side of this man, had said 'I do' before even being asked. Perhaps a year ago she would have hesitated, would have questioned whether she could marry someone who could do things like he'd done. But that was a long time ago, and though from 23 to 24 wasn't a long distance, it could be a hell of a rough one. It wasn't just love now; they'd survived the horrors of Miranda, and then they'd discovered something even darker.

Who else could ever understand that?

She dresses quickly, running fingers through dark blonde hair and glancing at herself in the mirror. She gives herself a second to really feel. The young woman looking back at her is exhausted. Kaylee shakes her head, the movement sending her hair across her face, and she takes a deep breath.

She digs deep, by her estimation a fraction deeper than she had to dig yesterday.

She finds the light and smiles.

Still flyin'.

* * *

Zoe entered the bedroom she shared with her boys. They were still asleep, Wash's arm thrown over their now three year old, and she smiled as they both snored. Sleep ins were rare, but on mornings before one of them flew out Matthew tended to need a little more rest, a little extra security.

"_What do you mean you can't do anything?"_

_Simon shook his head and the regret in his eyes was so raw and real she wanted to scratch them out. _

"_Zoe, I'm sorry, I really am. But the Ares virus bonded to his system so early. Even Jayne was three before he got infected; Matthew was barely six months. His system is still in early development, his brain function-"_

"_So what does that mean for him?"_

_She could see the doctor wish he had something more useful to say, and she felt her spine go straighter in response. "There's nothing you can do."_

"_Not at this point. Zoe, Hoban, I wish I had something better to say. But he's so young, his system is still growing and changing, and I have no idea how it's going to react or incorporate the virus. Jayne's body was an anomaly; they only managed to have a few of the MAs survive, and he's the only one who actually thrived."_

_She thought about the broken man she'd seen beg Mal for death in the courtyard only a week beforehand. Simon seemed to read her thoughts._

"_You have to remember, Jayne was sane and healthy for over thirty years before River's body chemistry…"_

_She hears so many endings to that sentence. _

_Unleashed the unholy hell beast that was apparently Jayne's true nature barely kept in check all these years and now bloodthirsty with an outlet to boot. _

_Destroyed any semblance of innocence amongst the crew and left a teenager pregnant, a mercenary insane, a crew desperately trying to hold together and her son a victim._

"…_changed."_

_She thinks that's an appropriate ending._

"_I know it's not what you want to hear, believe me I'd love to just administer the Pax and-"_

_The sound of medical equipment clattering to the floor startles Simon, though Zoe doesn't move an inch. She knows her husband, knows that his normal sense of humour and keen embrace of the ridiculous isn't helping him right now._

"_Then do it."_

_Simon shook his head again and Zoe felt a pang of sympathy._

"_I can't. I…I don't know what it might…"_

_He's leaving something out on purpose and she has a feeling she knows what it is._

"_Reavers. You're worried it'll react and turn him into a Reaver."_

_Across the room Wash stops his incessant pacing and freezes in place. Simon doesn't answer, but she already knows._

"_What can we do?"_

"_Love him." River's voice sounds from the doorway where she stands with Vera. The older woman nods, the movement sending a black curl over her shoulder, and Zoe sees nothing but compassion in those piercing blue eyes._

"_It'll be ok, Zoe." The House Mistress' usually sharp tone is softer now, and Zoe thinks about how she handled Jayne. Jayne who was sleeping in a cabin in the woods, far from his crewmates, his mother, his daughter._

_She thought about her son, sleeping soundly in their room along with Tali, Mattie resting at the foot of the bed. She looked to Wash and a million years passed between them._

_It'd be ok._

_It had to be._

Weeks turned into months, months into years. Some days were good.

_At 18 months Simon had measured his hormone and chemical composition levels. His testosterone and adrenaline were five times that of a normal 18 month old male._

She watched as Wash clutched their son tighter.

_Matthew, two years old, quietly playing. Cuddling against Mattie when suddenly his little body went taut. The move was foreign on such a tiny body, but at the same time all too familiar. Vera's eyes locking with Zoe's and Wash snatching their son up. Moving quickly to get him outside, into the air, where he could run, burn off energy. Mattie following him carefully. _

_Soon they started calling Jayne to run with the boy and Mattie, Zoe tracking as her baby boy, still learning the mechanics of walking, struggled against the violence inside. Jayne and Mattie would take point, keeping up with Matthew, keeping critters and worse animals away as the little boy stretched his hellish wings._

_More scrapes and bruises and cuts, but he'd come home. His little body would relax, he'd snuggle into her arms, and all would be right in the 'verse once more._

She watches as they begin to stir, and she lies on the other side of the bed, smiling when her son unconsciously cuddles against her. One hand slips over black corkscrew curls; he's her carbon copy, except for the bright blue eyes.

And Wash's freckles.

She strokes her husband's cheek, knowing he'll sleep like the dead if she lets him. It's his turn on the run.

She hates having to alternate, they both hate being away.

The trip may only be a few days but when it's spent away from a spouse and child it can feel like forever. Missed moments weighed heavily on their hearts, thinking back to when Matthew was first growing inside her and they would plan adventures to be had, just the three of them.

But it's Wash's turn.

And that's the way things have to be.

* * *

_"Jayne, follow me."_

_She's wearing her underwear and an oversized yellow t-shirt tied in a knot at her waist. The shirt is familiar, the sight produces a tug in his stomach, seeing one shoulder bare, the other covered by his clothing. Her hair is loose, she's bathed in sunlight, and the water of the lake is the clearest blue he's ever seen._

_He follows her._

_How could he not?_

_She throws him a smile over her shoulder, eyes filled with warmth, playful and seductive and shiny as hell._

_When he moves to slowly she turns properly, grasping his wrist in her bony fingers and pulling him along like a well loved toy._

_He lets her._

_How could he not?_

_She drags him entirely willingly to the water, unfazed as the bracing cold hits her legs. She pulls him along with her, thin arms hiding strength, and he's caught up in water and long legs and the tinkling sound of her laughter as they crash backwards into the blue._

_The world goes silent with his head underwater, and when he pops back up he looks around. Pale arms wrap around his shoulders and chest from behind, and he grins as he twists until she's settled against his stomach. She nuzzles into his nose and he can't help pressing his face into her neck, letting his mouth rest against the soft skin he finds. Her voice is light and playful in his ear._

_"Can we stay like this?"_

_He nods, stubble scratching soft skin as she draws his face up and their eyes meet._

_"Forever?"_

_He knows the answer to this. Longer. Much, much longer._

_He opens his mouth to speak but his voice is a rasping growl, unused vocal cords twisting the sound until it's a warning rather than a passionate confirmation._

_The whiskey eyes that had been looking at him with adoration suddenly fill with fear, and she pushes backwards in terror. She winces. Pale skin is covered by angry bruises, finger marks showing where she's been held down, and he reaches a hand forward to help, to save her, to protect her._

_His movement stops as he realizes whose marks are on her skin._

_And finds himself desperate to cut his fingertips away._

He wakes up, shaking his head as if he can rid himself of the dream, the nightmare. As usual he is proven wrong; the images stay right where they are, might as well be tattooed on his eyeballs. He reaches down to scratch at Mattie. He knows the wolfhound prefers being at the House most of the time, but he seems to know Jayne needs him at night. Too many midnights spent screaming.

Still, it's better than the alternative.

His comm unit buzzes and he rushes to pull it from his pocket. Oversized blue eyes surrounded by dark lashes blink as his daughter smiles her good morning to him.

"Daddy!"

He smiles back. "Hey baby-girl, you sleep good?"

She nods. "I slept well."

She's two and correcting his speech. That's his girl.

"_Daddy, how come you don't live here with the rest of us?"_

_His eyes lock with River's and for a second he can't breathe. He wants to say he's sorry, that he wishes he could, that he has no place near them, that he wants more than anything to wake up in the same room and that doing so would destroy them all. He wants to say he's sorry for the nightmares, for knowing that he can't even have his daughter overnight, knowing he'd terrify her with the screaming in his sleep._

_Brown eyes See everything, she knows, running a hand down Natalia's back and tucking a stray curl behind her ear._

"_Likes the woods, needs to be closer to the wild."_

_Tali nods wisely and Jayne is grateful that her mother can lie better than he can._

Her mother appears behind her and his smile fades. Chocolate curls are still tousled from sleep, and he feels his eyes narrow and his tongue begin to run over his teeth.

"Can we go fishing today?"

His daughter's voice brings him back, and he focuses on her, relieved that he's not waking up in the same room as mother and daughter.

"Not today baby, gotta work, but when I get back we'll go, _dong ma_?"

She nods. "See you soon?"

He smiles. "Jus' gettin' ready."

She waves goodbye and for a second he lets his eyes slip back up to River. Her face is impassive but her eyes…

He wishes he was alone in a room with her.

He's grateful he won't be.

No point in that regret; no point letting his mind wander down that path. His mind stubbornly reminds him it's not quite right already, and definitely won't be listening to him anytime soon, but he's gotten good at shutting himself off.

He's got his go bag ready, just needs to shower before he can go see his baby girl.

He glances outside, feeling both disappointed and relieved at the lack of clouds. Another scorching day, but he'll be offworld soon anyway. He hopes he's home in time for the thunderstorms that are due to hit in a few weeks.

He doesn't want to miss the rain.

* * *

Mal enters the kitchen to the rich scent of coffee and the richer sight of her. She's in blue today, dark and regal, and for a moment he allows himself to remember. He knows what she'll be wearing under that dress, knows what her skin feels like beneath the sumptuous fabric, knows that if he got his mouth against her neck and his hands below her ribs she'd sigh, close her eyes and smile.

_Sharing a bed was foreign and yet it felt like she should have been there all along. He'd told her that once in a moment of sentimentality and she'd laughed, rich and pleasing._

"_Of course I should have." He'd pulled her against him and messed up her hair in his very favourite way._

She turns at his footfalls and he gives her a perfunctory nod. She returns it politely and her voice is light.

"How was the meeting?"

"_Mal, you're not meant to be land bound, you know it."_

"_And my choices are? Lose the crew, leave Matthew and Jayne behind?"_

_She shakes her head, hating this dance. They've passed over it a million times and the result is always the same. Blue grey eyes hold hers and he exhales. She can see the dirt weighing him down, can see the ties chafing his skin. The runs between worlds gave him some time in the sky, but with his crew constantly divided it never felt right._

_They weren't home._

"Went fine, run should be too."

They both look at their coffees and pretend to be doing anything but that. He hates the resignation in his voice as he starts talking again but there's nothing he can do about it.

"You be here when I…when we get back?"

He sees her eyes want nothing more than to light up, and maybe a year ago they would have. Maybe feelings would have broken through the training and she'd show her pleasure at being asked, her desire for his tone to be construed as hopeful.

_It didn't happen with a bang, but a whimper._

"_Mal I can't keep fighting for this. I cannot be the one who brings us back every time."_

_He shakes his head. "'Nara, we both knew-." _

"_No." She shakes her head, wishing her eyes would fill with tears but unable to let herself be that naked in front of him again._

"_No, we didn't. I knew I loved you, and you knew you loved me, and for a little while there we both knew that would be enough."_

_Part of him still wants a fight. "What, you sayin' you don't love me anymore?"_

_The eyes that hold him back are cool, polite, formal. There is no judgement, no malice, no hurt, no shame. She is composed, calm, gracious._

"_I do."_

_She turns, and he knows that if he said the right thing, acted the right way, gave her something of himself she'd stop. She'd turn. It would be hard, it would be difficult at times, but he'd have her still. The late nights of love and passion, the early mornings of lazy laughter, the still moments on the roof spent looking at the stars, they'd all still be there._

She nods again, her eyes impassive. Her tone is polite, formal.

"Yes, I won't be leaving for another fortnight."

_His tongue fails him, and she pauses in the doorway. "That's why I'm leaving."_

He nods, taking his coffee to the front porch to wait for the half of his crew he gets to take this time.

* * *

Book stands in the doorway for a moment, allowing Inara the privacy she needs to run one hand over her face and break down for a split second. He ignores the phantom itch of his left eye, nothing more than a useless socket.

_Inara brought an ice chip to Book's lips, relieved when they parted. His voice came out a hoarse rasp, a whisper._

_"I…I should have killed him."_

_Inara shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "Wash did. It's not your way, you did all that you could."_

_The preacher shook his head, wincing as the movement caused him pain. "No…not my way. My way is __go se__."_

_He gripped her hands, his good eye suddenly opening a crack, and she fought back more tears at the hollow guilt in that eye. "Might've been Wash, or Simon…K-k-kaylee. My way left us open to attack."_

_"Shhh." She ran a hand over his hair gently, struggling to think of something she could say._

_Book coughed. "H-h-haven was my way. We w-w-were vulnerable. W-w-when I killed that man…I should have remembered."_

_Inara shook her head. "No. We need you and your way, now more than ever. Don't forget that."_

Book touches a hand to the pocket that used to hold his bible. He wonders where he's left it…it hasn't been there for some time.

* * *

Vera sips her coffee, squinting into the sunlight. The warmth heats her skin, she cricks her neck. Her son will be here soon, eyes filled with nightmares and relief at holding his daughter again. The crew would be gathering to load the ship and say their goodbyes. Ginger would bring fruits and cured meat for breakfast, the crew would watch as half their family disappeared into the Black without them.

And she would wish, more than anything, she could bring light to their eyes.

A tall, broad shouldered figure is now visible in the woods, moving alongside a huge dark wolfhound. Vera feels River appear at her shoulder, and she reaches over to place a quick kiss of greeting on her granddaughter's cheek. She has promised to take her fishing today, since her Daddy was going into the Black again soon.

Mattie breaks into a run at the sight of Vera, bolting over to rub his head against her hip, moving to where River is holding Tali and sniffing them.

River smiles. "Safe, sound, missed you too."

Vera watches the Reader look up to where Jayne is taking Tali into a hug, the little girl nuzzling her father's cheek and grinning as he stands tall. One little hand trails absentmindedly over the ink marks on his arm as she babbles about her dreams, and Vera is grateful there have been no questions as to their origin.

Yet.

River watches as her daughter kisses Jayne's cheek, pale little face against dark tan and scratchy stubble. Vera watches as River studies him, one hand grasping the opposite forearm, and for a second she's someone else.

For a second she's 20 with a crush, eyes filled with hope and shy pleasure at seeing him. For a second she's hooking a stray curl behind her ear and smiling sweetly and innocently watching possibilities unfold.

The wind turns, taking the breeze in the opposite direction, and Jayne's head snaps up. His eyes flash with heat and he deliberately sniffs at Tali's hair, needing to take the edge off. It does the trick, but Vera watches the guilt in her son's eyes and sees River deflate.

The girl is gone, leaving behind a young woman holding on to her sanity by occasionally tenuous threads, moving forward each day for her daughter. The Reader turns to Vera, eyes farseeing.

Vera keeps her voice calm; River doesn't need to run quite as wild as she did while pregnant with Tali and unable to control herself.

Vera isn't fool enough to think that meant she isn't still feral.

"You alright, darlin'? See somethin'?"

River nods, frowning and struggling to form words, when her brother slips a hand over her shoulder.

"_Mei mei, _are you ok?"

River pauses, trying to catch a tail end of what she had seen.

_Those gloves are the wrong colour._

She files it away as she nods to Simon, smiling as Kaylee approaches.

* * *

Badger finishes flipping through the morning news feed, pouring himself another cup of coffee. The aromatic blend was a special import, and he wasn't afraid to admit he was a little bit addicted. The console built into his desk lights up, signalling an incoming Wave. He debates ignoring it, wanting to savour his drink and a cigarette, but he's waiting on Reynolds, and can't afford to miss a job.

An unfamiliar face appears.

"'ere, who are you?"

The voice is calm. "Someone who wants to help."

Badger smirks, "Yeah? An' wot if I ain't needin' any 'elp?"

A shake of the head. "I never said I wanted to help you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **The Cure

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**A/N: **Hey guys, thanks for the continued support! I know that previously I've been a very quick updater, but things are a little different now, so essentially I'll be doing my best and aiming for 1-2 updates a week. If I'm taking too long feel free to kick me in the butt :) Also, today's codeword is **NEFARIOUS**. If you manage to include it in a review I'll send ya a sneak peek preview as a reward.

* * *

It was quiet on the ship.

It always was when they started their run. No matter what mix of crew he was flying with, Mal was never unsurprised by the initial silence. Wash tended to want time on the bridge to check if River made any more adjustments, Book liked time to sit quietly in the galley. When Zoe was on board she tended to stay in her bunk for a while at first, and Mal knew she was usually on a constant Wave with Matthew and her husband. Jayne liked to stay confined; there are parts of the ship he rarely goes to now, such as the passenger dorms. The only other constants were Simon and Kaylee, the latter of whom always seems determined to act as normal as possible.

Mal scoffed, normal.

He thought in some ways it was a relief; he spent hours sitting on the bridge, staring into the Black. He'd loved space since he could stand. Knee high to a grasshopper, his mother telling him stories of stars and great ships. After the hell of Serenity Valley, after he'd seen his world change and shatter, after his faith had been obliterated, he'd felt lost.

Wandering for days after leaving service, ignoring Zoe's attempts to locate him, until he came to a ship yard where he'd found his salvation.

He'd looked up and known he wanted to caress that night's sky like a lover, running his fingers through stars like long locks of hair.

Black hair.

He shook his head as if the movement would knock the thoughts of her lose. It didn't work.

It never worked.

* * *

It was the rarest of the indulgences he allowed himself, stalking silently to the passenger dorm, into a room he usually avoided like the plague. Today he couldn't resist, needed to smell her, the muted scent of her left in this room. It'd had been just long enough that the scent had degraded slightly, mixing with Tali's, until there was something softer, sweeter, gentler.

He needed that.

_She nuzzles her nose against his cheek, breath warm and voice sweet. "For how long will you be gone, Ba ba?"_

_He inhales deeply. Her scent cuts through the darker, more tantalizing tang that's left on her clothing by contact with her mother. Here now is clean, sun warmed earth and cool springs, early morning mist making little rainbows. He feels his chest loosen, slightly._

"_Not too long, baby-girl. Ain't but a regular run."_

_Natalia, his little Tali, nods. The movement sends her curls over her shoulders, and though they're brushed they're still as wild as her mother's. Apart from the blue eyes she's River's carbon copy; face carved in miniature, like a perfect little doll._

_Said doll rolls her eyes. "Not a doll, Ba ba."_

_He grins. "But yer so purdy…"_

_She begins to giggle uncontrollably as he throws her high, catching her close to his chest. She tries to shoot him a serious look and fails miserably, dissolving into laughter as he throws her again. _

"_Mama, look!"_

_Jayne falters, his grin disappearing. He knows River won't be glaring disapproval, knows she trusts him, knows she doesn't mind these silly games he plays with their daughter. _

_But he still feels guilty, as always. Tali senses his change in mood as River's voice travels from the porch._

"_Like a leaf on the wind, bao bei. Soaring so high."_

_Tali looks at him with big blue eyes, seeking approval, wanting him to know it's all ok. He shoots her a smile that feels weak even to him, and her happy expression drops as she presses her cheek against his._

"_Love you, Daddy."_

_He takes another minute to inhale, wishing he had the right words. He wants to say he's sorry, that he wishes he could be with her always, wishes he could stay with her and watch her every minute of every day, wishes he could wake up to her face smiling._

_He glances at River, brown eyes watching him carefully. The breeze changes and brings a hint of her, and Jayne presses his face into his daughter's hair more tightly._

_The pull is as strong as ever, setting his blood on fire, familiar tattoo beating in his ears. If his daughter is sun warmed earth her mother is a warmer…a scorching desert, a forest fire, a lava field. The blaze is so hot, so fast, so consuming he can barely see straight. The virus they had infected him with as a child screamed for him to lose control, to leave his sanity behind, to take take take without regard._

He put down his daughter's stuffed bear, moving to pick up a pillow. He inhaled deeply, the scent stronger, not enough to set him on fire, but uncut and undiluted. Rich, warm, roasted coffee without the bitter tang. His blood was warmed but didn't boil, and he wondered if this was what normal people called love.

_He wishes he was watching her and thinking of kissing her, of something a man would normally want to do._

_Instead he imagines how easily her purple tunic would rip, how quickly he could have her against the wall of the mansion, how she'd taste right as she came._

_He's sick._

He put down the pillow, he had to leave. This wasn't love, this wasn't even affection. This was the sick obsession they'd so kindly bestowed on him, purely visceral reaction to a set of chemicals designed to bring out his most desirable traits.

He shook his head.

Aggression, rage, the sex drive and need for violence obliterating any semblance of control, of sanity.

_Without the little girl in his arms the front yard would be a battle ground. There would be carnage._

_Everything they do is a tightly coordinated dance; who runs the forests, where they meet with Natalia, who goes on runs in the Black and who stays behind. For the first few weeks after they destroyed the facility Jayne had stayed at the house._

_For a little while they'd thought they could do it._

_Never alone in a room together, never without Natalia._

_Until one night he'd woken up hungry, and she'd woken up thirsty._

He winced at the memory of that night.

He'd moved to the cabin the next day.

Jayne left the room and moved towards his work out bench, wondering how much longer he could live like this.

How much longer he wanted to.

* * *

Kaylee looked up as Simon entered the engine room, shooting him a bright smile. She knew he hated being away from River, from Tali, from Matthew. But they both knew how lucky they were, getting to go on every trip into the Black, together.

Her smile faltered as she thought about missing Matthew's first steps, Tali's first word, constantly feeling like she was missing out on her family.

Family…

Simon knelt beside her, hooking a lock of hair behind her ear. He gave her a soft smile, and she knew he could read her thoughts as easily as River right now. It was the same discussion they'd had a million times, the same loop, the same circle. They loved Tali, they loved Matthew, and they loved each other. Kaylee knew what she wanted, Simon knew what he wanted, and what they wanted more than anything was something they _could _have.

But at what price?

Kaylee thought about Inara preparing to leave, about River and Jayne fighting a losing battle with training they never asked for. She thought about Zoe and Wash, struggling to hold together while their son began to feel the effects of the Ares virus. They thought about Mal and Book, both withdrawing further and further into themselves, making people wonder if they would ever be able to find their way out. Vera fighting to keep them going, Ginger watching with sad, regretful eyes as Jayne's will to fight lessened every day.

Could anyone bring a child into this?

Simon's arm slipped over her shoulders at the same time her eyes welled up. She pressed her face into his neck, knowing that the material of his shirt would dry her tears, and the whirr of her beloved engine would silence her sobs. After the tears dried and they'd made one another feel better as best as their bodies allowed them, they both lay silently, grateful they had each other.

Wondering how much longer than would be enough.

* * *

_Early morning and no one in sight. Book knew the Captain would be checking on Serenity, as he now did almost obsessively, missing the Black and his source of freedom. Vera would be out with River and Tali, the former needing to run and the later off to visit her father for the day. To Book's relief there was a light summer rain on the windows; things would be easier for Jayne today._

_As he sat on the overstuffed couch he heard a door creak open, bright blue eyes peeking around the corner. He hid his smile behind his coffee cup, pretending to be engrossed in his book. Another creak as little feet snuck across the room, and Book struggled to bite back the grin that threatened to break his face._

"_Gotcha!"_

_Matthew sprung over the back of the couch, and Book was relieved he'd set down his coffee cup. He grabbed the little boy, giving him a brief wrestle before tucking him against his side._

"_That you did, little one."_

_He saw Zoe glance around the corner of the door, and shook his head once. Matthew was fine, for now. She nodded and disappeared back into the bedroom where her husband lay sleeping._

_Book smiled down. "Now, what shall we do this morning?"_

_Matthew shrugged. "Dunno, Ye ye."_

_It didn't matter how many times he was called Grandfather by Matthew or Tali, it still made him feel his chest was several sizes too small. _

Book entered the bridge quietly, a cup of tea in his hand as he approached Mal. "Captain."

The younger man nodded without looking away from the stars, and Book sat in the pilot's chair that Wash had recently vacated. Each man was silent for a moment, before Book's low voice rumbled through the room.

"She's beautiful."

"That she is."

"Such beauty is always better shared."

"Don't get sweet on me, Preacher."

Book allowed himself a smile, though he wasn't sure whether it was the gentle humour or the title that amused him.

"I never said you should be sharing it with me."

Book didn't need to turn to know that Mal's eyes had hardened. "In no need of sermons today."

"Never offered one. Just wondering why you'd let someone who loves you walk out of your life?"

Mal's eyes never left the stars. "She's made her choice."

"Has she now."

Mal finally turned. "You got somethin' to say, Shepherd?"

"As a matter of fact-"

"Well hold yer tongue. Ain't lookin' for advice; she wants ta leave. Who'm I ta keep her?"

Book stood, turning so Mal was forced to look at the material patch covering the obliterated socket where a healthy eye had once lived.

"The same _hun dun_ who let her walk away the first time."

* * *

Book shook his head, setting his tea on the table and rooting through the cupboards. They always had decent food on board now, but he wasn't in the mood for cooking. He wanted something fast, and when he found the protein bar he unwrapped it quickly.

He was chewing and staring at the heavy block lettering and half blue circle on the wrapping, when Wash entered. The pilot looked exhausted, but Book was unsurprised. Matthew had begun waking up from nightmares now, screaming and hissing about monsters wearing gloves. One night had been so bad that Zoe had woken River in a panic as a howling Matthew fretted and swung. The colour had been leeched from his skin, mocha turning to unhealthy grey as his breathing became fast.

The Reader had placed her hands on his temples, locking eyes with the little boy. Her face had gone pale and her eyes wide but she'd held firm.

"Little soul, big world."

Matthew had slowly begun to relax, some of the colour coming back to his cheeks. Zoe had grasped him tightly to her as Wash asked Simon whether it was the Ares virus.

Simon hadn't been able to answer.

Wash nodded as Book silently offered him some tea. He missed Zoe, he missed Matthew. Being away felt like missing limbs still offering phantom movements; he woke up reaching for them in his sleep, the bed almost warm for a second. Two weeks together, one week apart. He loved flying, loved being in the Black, feeling Serenity shift and roll underneath him, humming her familiar tune.

But he was missing part of his soul every time they left Purgatum.

The reason for their separation entered the galley. Jayne held up a bottle of whiskey and Wash nodded, accepting the glass as it was passed down. The big man never drank on Purgatum, never even a sip, a feat that was more than a little impressive for a man who believed in little more pleasurable than a glass of whiskey with a cigar by sunset.

But Wash knew why.

He knew Jayne wouldn't give himself a second, couldn't give himself a moment where his inhibitions, his self-control might be lowered. The reins can't slip, there can be no moments of weakness. But when they're on ship he can breathe a little easier, if only for a moment.

"_Doc, it can't be that hard."_

_Simon hissed in irritation, and Jayne almost felt guilty._

_Almost._

"_Don't gorram whine at me; when I'm near Tali it ain't bad, I can control it. Can't ya work somethin' out? That's gotta mean somethin'."_

"_Jayne, what is it you think I do all the time? I have tried everything, River even let me draw a little blood from Tali to use for testing; it's useless. Whatever pheromones that Tali emits aren't masking agents, dong ma? They're biological contingency plans; they're your body's way of ensuring it doesn't destroy its own offspring. It's not that they let you control yourself around River; it's that they take priority. There's no way to create a build up because it's in Tali's DNA; she's yours."_

_Simon was so tired of apologising, so tired of being unable to fix things, to cure Matthew, to help Jayne. He was so tired of running tests, working hypotheses, failing to produce any kind of result. He was so tired of failing his crew, his niece, his sister._

_He was tired._

_Jayne's feet were heavy as he entered his cabin, glancing at the window and wishing, more than anything, that it would rain._

_He needed the rain._

_Simon's voice rang in his head._

"_She's yours."_

_Jayne felt that pang in his chest he got when he thought about River._

_Tali was his gorram world, the only shiny thing he woke up for, knowing who and what he was. Her smile, the games, the way she would explore with him, look at him with eyes filled with trust like he was anything but a monster, feral. Lucky didn't cover it; she had been created in the worst of ways, but his baby girl was his everything. He was hers, entirely, and she was his._

_Full, pouty lips and eyes the colour of rich whiskey filled his head._

_Tali was everything, he had everything._

_The scent of fruit ripe and fresh for picking, slim limbs and the darkest of roads._

_He just wanted a little more._

Wash, Book and Jayne sipped at their whiskey silently for a moment before Wash broke the silence.

"Matthew caught his first catch the other day."

For the next few moments, as they discussed their children, Book's grandchildren, there was peace. They could pretend they were a normal family, chatting about achievements, living normal lives.

If only for a moment.

* * *

**2507 – A very large, very private facility**

"Pax formula requests have been made by members of Parliament; interest in the compound has grown. They want to do planet wide testing immediately."

He smiled, showing perfectly straight, white teeth. "I believe we should let them."

Dr Matthias narrowed his eyes. "I thought your interest lay elsewhere, in The Academy."

He nodded. "Amongst other things. But we are still looking for appropriate candidates, and I am perfectly happy allow the Alliance access to such good work as this."

Dr Matthias seemed relieved. "This could help create such better worlds; Dr Carmichael's work is impeccable. Chan chose well."

He smiled, the expression attractive but not meeting his eyes. "Indeed. Chan has proven most helpful. Was there anything else?"

The smile asked politely, the eyes warned against further requests. Dr Matthias disappeared from the screen.

He looked at the rare orchid sitting on his desk, glass case carefully surrounding the near extinct blossom. He takes a sip of orange blossom laced iced tea, deciding he wants something stronger. He sent his order through to the private kitchen, looking forward to a cleanly made martini with Isian gin and rare olives from Capricus. Perhaps some Turkish delight made with the delicate rose water they'd imported from Sihnon.

He moved away from the expansive desk towards the enormous windows of the corner office. Rich carpet, ancient mahogany desk, and the incredible view of Osiris' Capital below. He let his mind drift as he surveyed the scene below. He would need to contact the Operations department, as well as put a boot to Chan's ass. The Breeders were a start but nowhere near what they were looking for, and Mathias was still searching for a candidate who would survive the neural stripping for The Academy.

He decided to request additional staff support for that particular venture, just in case. Possibly some of the Handlers. They always did such splendidly thorough work.

He let his eyes adjust from the scene below to his own image in the expansive window. He shifted slightly, adjusting his tie, and stepped back to take in his full reflection. His tailor was right.

It really was a beautiful suit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **The Cure

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

* * *

Connor swallowed thickly.

The air in the room was heavy, though the two men standing in front of him seemed utterly unaffected by the stagnant heat.

His wrists chaffed against the plastic ties; he'd long since learned that excess movement only tightened them, causing them to bite into his skin.

Connor wouldn't cry.

His throat felt raw from screaming, his mouth tasting of bile and blood, hot and metallic.

Connor wouldn't cry.

Sweat was carving a slow, painfully warm path down his neck, his back, his legs. The liquid tracked down his cheeks alongside the red trails leaking from his eyes, his ears, his nose, his mouth.

Connor wouldn't cry.

The taller man stepped forward, his shorter companion remaining seated. Not a drop of sweat was visible, despite Purgatum's heat turning this little room into a sauna.

"Your loyalty is commendable, Connor. However, this does not need to continue."

Connor felt himself flinch as that gloved hand brought up the thin silver rod, pressing the centre so the ends extended, revealing those blue conductors.

Connor inhaled shakily, barely able to speak.

"S-s-stop, p-p-please."

The taller man paused, tilting his head to the side, his companion mimicking the movement perfectly. Connor begged his mind to give him something, anything, anything but throwing those people to these wolves. Begged his head to throw up some idea other than telling these men about the crew, the dark haired girl and the little secrets they kept.

A thumb gloved in blue gently caressed the button at the centre of the device, and Connor swallowed again.

"Ok."

As he began to speak, Connor thought about his father's beliefs about Cobb, about everything he had been taught about honour. Late nights spent by the fire, both as a boy and as a young man, as his father educated him on the important of loyalty, integrity.

The importance of doing what is right.

His mouth tore that education away with every word.

And Connor cried.

* * *

Vera watched, sipping her coffee as River settled Tali into her carrier. The little girl waved a hand at her grandmother from where she was safely held to her mother's back by a bolt of thin cotton. River adjusted the knife attached to a thigh holster, another at her boot. Purgatum's forests were enough of a danger to require some protection, but she wouldn't carry a gun. She didn't want to feel any more restricted.

The combat boots, though well worn, were still in excellent condition. The thin tunic was made from well softened leather, a concession to her brother's concern. Curling brown hair was pulled back into a loose braid down one side of her head.

She wouldn't take anything else out with her, and Vera knew better than to force her to carry a pack. There were still days when River's mind refused to let her focus long enough on mundane tasks such as eating and sleeping, when her concern for her own physical condition was too much of an effort to focus. Now, however, there was Natalia.

River had to eat to be strong for Natalia. She had to sleep to be rested for Natalia. She had to take heed of changing weather and the need for fresh water for Natalia.

Though River's troubled mind meant she still had moments of difficultly in looking after herself, she had no trouble caring for her daughter. She'd tried to explain it to Simon once.

"_Perfect clarity. No thinking required; she breathes, I breathe. She hungers, I offer my breast. She needs, I give. She smiles, I smile."_

_Simon watched her carefully. "You're saying you don't need to think about it, so it doesn't matter what kind of state you're in?"_

_She shot him a smirk. "Mama wolf looks after her cub."_

_He'd chuckled, running one hand over Tali's brown curls, the same curls to be found on her mother._

Vera finished her coffee and stood. "We takin' Mattie?"

River looked to where the giant wolfhound was lolling in a sunbeam, Matthew Washburne scratching at his belly with glee. He was tall for a three year old, though whether this was genetics or another side effect of the Ares virus was unknown. He looked up as his mother entered the room, also dressed for the forest.

Zoe accepted a cup of coffee from Vera as she stroked Matthew's hair, answering the older woman.

"Think we will, if it's alright with you?"

Vera shrugged. "It's never up to me."

Mattie rolled onto his feet, whuffing at Vera reproachfully. She couldn't help but laugh as he trotted over to River, licking one of Tali's bare feet before sitting tall beside them. The little girl giggled, struggling for a moment to reach down, little fingers wrapping around his tufted ears.

Zoe would have sworn the damn dog raised an eyebrow, and Vera rolled her eyes.

"Oh, is that right?"

Mattie whuffed, pleased with himself as River picked up her water canteen and attached it to her holster. Vera knew where that holster had come from; she'd taught the maker everything he knew about leather.

_When the dust had settled after the late night 'encounter' that shattered their previous détente, Vera started to visit Jayne in his cabin. His new house (not home, never home) was kept bare but for his hunting gear, clothing, a thin mattress and a few captures of his daughter. There had been a bed once, and a chair, but one too many nightmares had resulted in their accidental destruction. _

_When Tali came to visit the gear was packed away, and if the little girl wondered why her father had no furniture she never asked._

_She'd wait until the crew were settled, heading out into the darkness, Mattie striding beside her. Sometimes their visits were light._

"_I ain't never seen a shirt that gorram ugly in my life; throw that thing out."_

"_But Mama-"_

"_But nuthin'! Wash told me all about the adventure y'all had at the House of Gold on Red Rock. Know the thing that stuck out the most?"_

_He'd sat heavily on the floor and shook his head._

"_That they've seen that ruttin' shirt enough ta call it yer 'Whorin' shirt."_

_Mattie gave what could almost have been a snicker as Jayne's face warred between embarrassment and pride. She whacked him over the back of the head._

"_It's ugly."_

_He rolled his eyes, and for a minute she remembered a moody pre-teen who used to do that when asked to watch his mouth. When he'd pointed out that she swore too, Vera had struggled to hold her tongue for a day while Ginger deliberately riled her up._

_He tossed it into the trash as she continued to rummage._

_They both knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to tease him, to tell him nice girls didn't dance with men who had whoring shirts. She wanted to ask if he'd been swimming lately and watch his face turn red._

_She didn't say anything._

_She knew if she did his face would fall, dark clouds passing over his eyes. Whatever mirth he'd have momentarily would fade entirely, and she would see longing and loneliness._

_Try as she might, Vera would never be strong enough to deal with that look._

_She wished him chocolate curls and rain._

* * *

Inara accepted the coffee offered by Ginger, sipping at the hot liquid and looking down to where River and Zoe were prepping for their fishing trip in the yard. The former House Mistress tucked a dusty red curl behind her ear, also looking into the courtyard.

Inara wondered if she would ever be able to look at that courtyard without seeing Jayne, chained and horrified, as Kaylee told him he was a father.

Ginger seemed to read her mind. "Some memories might be best left behind."

Inara smiled politely. "It will be sad to leave this place; strange as it is, Purgatum has been my home for two years."

Ginger glanced at her sideways, and for a second Inara thought the older woman was going to ask her to stay. To tell her she was needed. To order her to fight and claw desperately at what she wanted.

Instead the auburn haired beauty shrugged. "Home is not a place; it's a feeling."

Inara nodded, relieved that she hadn't told her to stay.

And wishing she had.

* * *

Zoe pulled Matthew onto her back, deftly wrapping the bolt of strong fabric she'd use to carry him. The second they hit the forest he'd want to bolt, ready to burn off the excess energy slowly building in his system. Hours later, though, she'd need to take home an exhausted three year old, and that's where the carrier was handy.

She looked at River.

The younger woman was stroking her daughter's hair, brown eyes locked with blue, not a word passing. They rarely needed to trade words; whatever dubious Gift given to River had passed to her daughter, though without the ongoing threat of insanity and instability.

The younger woman cocked her head to the side, a gesture eerily similar to one performed by a broken man who had once been a mercenary full of life. Zoe felt a tug; she missed Wash already. She wondered whether River ever felt that tug while Jayne was in space.

The younger woman shook her head, "No tug, but tearing. Bloody and painful."

Zoe nodded, and hoped that it would rain when the crew arrived back from their journey.

River's eyes seemed clouded as she looked over the horizon, and Zoe waited patiently.

"Somethin' up ahead, little one?"

Strange to call her that; she was a mother, and a damn good one. But old habits die hard.

Her voice was low and tense. "Nothing can stay the same, it isn't safe."

Zoe looked around. "Isn't safe here for us?"

River turned to face her, eyes flat and dark. "For our souls."

* * *

The meet with Badger was quick; they always were. By now their run was easy; Purgatum's towns made their requests, provided the cashy credits, and Serenity picked up their orders from Badger. It was reasonably lucrative, enough that every crew member was paid their cut and enough for Mal to have created contingency plans. It was a good run.

Mal looked to the sky as Jayne, Book and Kaylee loaded the mule.

It was just so _gorram _boring.

Mal would never, ever admit it, but he missed his old life. He missed the occasional gun fight to make him feel alive, missed plotting and executing brilliant schemes.

He ignored a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Zoe ask him when exactly said schemes worked out.

He didn't miss not knowing when they'd eat next, he didn't miss running from the Alliance, and he'd never get over the smell of fresh coffee, real eggs and bacon. He was the first to say that Vera went above and beyond in helping them, even though they paid their way now.

But the Black…

_Slim fingers trailed over his hair as smooth lips curved into a sultry smile._

"_It's in your blood; you need it."_

_He grinned, laying back with one hand behind his head. The other stroked over her bare back, flawless skin, enjoying the feel of her nails tracing battle scars. He lived for moments like this, disappearing into the quiet aftermath as the sweat on their bodies cooled and her hair was still a mess of inky curls._

"_Might be right, but this ain't bad."_

_Neither addressed the fact that he'd left off the words "for now". Purgatum had been a haven, a place to escape and heal. Now, as Matthew and Natalia grew, it felt less like a point of safety and healing._

_It felt like chains._

The Black called out to him, humming in his veins, and he knew he wasn't the only one who felt the tug. The forests and deserts might have offered respite to the wilder members of his crew, but every single one of them missed the sky. The land was good, the land was harsh but giving, and the House of Night had given them shelter from a storm unlike any they'd ever faced.

Mal felt Simon studying him in between running over the medical supplies they were bringing to Purgatum. He knew the doctor felt the weight of the land on his shoulders, knew that the slight silvering at his temples wasn't due to old age. He was barely thirty.

But even the doctor, formerly of the lily-white hands, felt the tug of the Black.

Simon watched Mal and knew the Captain wasn't sleeping enough. This life they were leading felt like a holding pattern, twos years of waiting, hoping for a breakthrough that would let them head back to the Black. Back to the sky.

"_You're lost in the woods. We all are. Even the Captain. Only difference is, he likes it that way."_

Inara's words caused a pang of regret in Simon's chest. This last two years had cost them all, some more than others.

"Oy, Cobb." Badger still rarely addressed Jayne unless absolutely necessary; the big man knew full well that he was not the preferred gunhand of the little Dytonian, and he snarled low under his breath.

"What?"

Badger flashed him a snake's grin. "'ere now, no need ta get snippy. Got a message for ya, someone reckons they can help."

Jayne narrowed his eyes. "Ain't wantin' any-"

Badger's scoff caused the big man's lip the curl, and Simon moved to stand near the mercenary.

"Now now, we both know that ain't true." The smile disappeared. "We both know you need 'elp."

Mal and Book had stopped loading the mule as Kaylee and Wash stopped searching through parts, every present crewmember listening intently.

Mal studied Badger carefully. The little man had been a loyal business partner for a long time now, one of the few people he counted as a friend of Serenity, if not the Captain himself. It was no secret that Badger was no fan of Jayne's; the little man rarely addressed him at all, and in some ways Mal didn't blame him.

He'd been there when the gates of hell had opened.

Still, the mercenary was Natalia's father, and Badger played nice. Mal suspected River had given him some kind of warning about that a few months back. She rarely needed to speak to the little man to get her point across, but Mal was no fool; he knew who was in charge between them.

"Go on."

Badger nodded. "Seems this fella wants a meeting, reckons he knows how to right some wrongs."

Mal shook his head as Jayne stayed silent. "Ain't lookin' for vendettas, tell 'em-"

"He reckons," Badger continued as if Mal hadn't spoken. "He knows a lil somethin' about The Program. Reckons he knows a lil somethin' 'bout your…issues."

The little man's eyes grew hard. "I reckon said issues could be easily fixed by a bullet, but that ain't a popular view, apparently."

Book stepped forward, watching Jayne carefully. The mercenary was still, too still.

"Who is this person?"

Badger shrugged. "Didn' wanna leave a name, lil mysterious ta be honest. But he sounded sure of 'imself."

"When?"

Jayne's voice was rough, and Simon recognised the attempt at control.

Badger's smirk didn't help. "Left details ta set somethin' up, got 'em round 'ere somewhere."

"Get 'em."

Badger moved away from the taught man carefully, walking into the building.

Mal shook his head. "Jayne, we don't know-"

"Don't care."

Mal scowled. "Need I remind you we ain't exactly got an abundance of people wantin' ta help us, and almost every person who knew about The Program is dead?"

Jayne looked up at him blankly.

Of course Jayne knew.

Jayne knew better than anyone.

Book's voice was low and calm. "Son, I know you want-"

"You got no idea how much I want."

The voice was low and harsh, Book would have flinched if he had been at all surprised.

Mal shook his head. "We can't just-"

Jayne moved faster than anyone could blink, snatching the panels of Mal's jacket. Mal saw the desperation, the horrific, pathetic desire. It was more emotion than he'd seen in his mercenary for months, hot and violent and ready to snap anything in its path.

Mal saw everything there, and it made him ill.

"Fine, we'll go. But we're headin' home first, _dong ma?_"

Jayne nodded, lowering his Captain but not having the sense to look even mildly apologetic.

As the bigger man moved to help Kaylee, needing the sweetness for a moment, Wash moved next to the Captain.

"You know he's only agreeing to go back first because of the rainy season?"

Mal nodded. "That may be, but it'll give him some measure of calm."

Simon watched the tautness in Jayne's muscles. Simon knew how his own emotions had leaped on the idea that someone, anyone, could shed light on the situation, give them more information. Possibly even a cure? He knew what it would mean to have their ship back, to have Purgatum as an occasional stop over without being a home base, to have the Black back in their sights.

He knew what it would mean to have the whole crew in the same living quarters, to not fear the horrific violence that would ensue if Jayne ever lost himself again, if River fell back to her programming once more. To not fear for their children's futures.

He knew how he felt.

He could only imagine what Jayne was experiencing.

* * *

The man known only as The Operative studied the man across the table.

"So, he agreed to the meeting?"

The other man shook his head, adjusting his leather jacket with a scowl. "Not yet, but he will."

The Operative nodded. "Yes, I believe you are right about that."

The other man stood, not bothering to throw any credits on the table where their empty glasses were gathering condensation.

"This better pay as well as yer man seems ta think it should."

The Operative stared blankly ahead. "This should indeed be enriching."

The other man stared at him for a moment before rolling his eyes and walking away. The Operative watched him leave, studying the gait, watching as he collected his two goons at the door. The long leather jacket was out on place on Purgatum, and though the man had previous experience dealing with matters considered by many to be…indelicate…The Operative did not like him.

"You don't have to like him."

The Operative nodded, knowing the security feed was being picked up, ignoring the hum of the earwig.

"Indeed."

The cultured voice humming in his ear held a hint of chuckle. "You're uncomfortable."

The Operative didn't bother correcting the man on the other end of the line, who continued. "Womack has experience in moving cargo of a less traditional nature. And he's dealt with Reynolds before."

The Operative nodded again, and the cultured voice gave a gently exasperated sigh. "And yet, you remain uncomfortable."

"Yes. After Miranda-"

The cultured voice was polite but firm, and The Operative detected a sharp edge. "Need I remind you that the Blue Sun Corporation did not create Miranda, nor did we create The Program."

On the other end of the earwig, far away in Osiris, a man in a beautiful suit studied The Operative's expressions via a wave vid. The Operative's face was a blank canvas, but the man in the beautiful suit knew just how to read him. He knew how uncomfortable the other man was with his mission, but he knew something else.

The training would hold.

He smiled. "The Blue Sun Corporation has no interest in the mistakes of the Alliance."

The Operative nodded as their connection was switched off.

The man in his beautiful suit, in his beautiful office, looked out over the beautiful view below.

"We just want to reap the benefits."


	5. Chapter 5

**TITLE: **The Cure

**DISCLAIMER: **Not mine

* * *

_She knows enough to know she's dreaming. She knows she's really trapped in the twilight between lucidity and insanity. It happens less now, and more often than not she can control it. Sometimes, however, the warring realities become too strong, and she's forced to give herself over so it finishes as quickly as possible._

Vera and Zoe watched as Matthew and Lily splashed in the billabong's shallow water. Lizards baked on nearby rocks, bellies turned to the sun as it slashed through the overhanging branches. The occasional near silent slither of scales on sand would alert them to the presence of snakes, but the middle of the day was no time for hunting.

A short distance away Mattie was pacing carefully towards River, lying carefully on a flat rock, ignoring the burn of the day's heat as it spread across her cheek. He nuzzled her foot, the movement causing an involuntary twitch, and the reaction seemed to comfort him somewhat.

Vera watched as River's eyes became very, very far away.

_The woods are lovely, dark, and deep. _

_At least, they were._

_They had been. Once the forest had been filled with danger; biting snakes, hungry wolfhounds, and poisonous spiders. She had loved the danger of the forest; honest and clean, rather than biting tones, hungry eyes and poisonous words._

_Now the trees were marked with hand prints, sticking out like dark blue bruises against trunks and branches. She slips carefully through them, letting her feet steal her away._

_She knows where she is going. _

_When she comes to the clearing it is different. There is no lake of crystal water here, only bare ground and two paths. _

_She studies each path._

_The path on the left is clear. The sun shines down on leaves and sticks, guiding her, showing her the way. It's easy to spot pebbles and the occasional fallen branch, easy to avoid pitfalls. The light is so bright._

_The path on the right is covered in spider webs, dark and leading into deep woods without light to guide. Each fallen branch is covered in webbing, like thick scars and black ink, obscuring what is underneath. There is a scent of blood in the air, tangy and fresh._

_She looks to the first path. The sunshine is so very bright._

_Too bright._

_Too sharp in its luminosity, looking more artificial than warm. The light is cutting through the trees and causing a haze in fine dust particles. The haze shows her glimpses of the path further down. A hand is visible along the edge of the path, the wrist trailing into a bush. A doll, a miniature version, is slumped against a tree. It has been stripped, left hollow, its expression dull and eyes blank. The harsh lights glint off scalpels, engine parts, there are pieces of silk and deerskin, leather and cheap cotton. The air smells of bleach, medicinal and far too clean._

_Stripped._

_White lights._

_Clarity._

_The second path, with its tang of fresh blood, refuses to reveal what lies ahead. She closes her eyes for a moment, waiting._

_It's there; in the distance, in the depths of the deep, dark woods._

_She inhales carefully, as if she can draw the sound into herself, convincing herself that it is real._

_A child's laughter._

_She opens her eyes again and stifles a gasp. He's standing at the fork in the road, huge and terrifying, body humming with energy, breath ragged and voice rasping. His eyes are dark with the effort of keeping his beast at bay._

_Those eyes are fixed on her as his words sting the air, ragged and low. "Choose."_

_She shakes her head. "Too much death, the loss; she can't see-"_

_The roar shakes the forest around them, and for a second his skin is tattered and torn, extra pieces sewn in, his mouth a horrifically cut rictus grin. _

_She steps backwards as the dappled light from the canopy ripples across his features, altering them._

_The image returns to the scarred, haunted animal watching her with hungry eyes. _

_No matter the image, the eyes were hungry._

_The voice that emerges is tight with lust and pathetic in its self-hatred._

"Run-tse duh shang-dee, ching dai-wuhtzo!_"_

_The words are familiar, previously begged out in a city of white silence, now roared into the forest, a plea filled with hatred and fear._

_She takes a step forward, towards neither path, towards him. His image distorts once more, a strong warrior now on his knees, horror and disgust written on his face._

_Another step forward. Another distortion, this one filled with laughter and mirth, ready for a tussle of any variety, younger and free. She is reminded of hoop ball, bar fights, easy leers not compounded by guilt or shame._

_Step. The bloodied Reaver returns, and then once more he is the haunted fighter combating the call in his blood._

_She knows no matter the path she chooses, the reflections will continue to change. Each path holds death, neither comes without a cost. _

_Everything has a price._

_She closes her eyes to shut out the image of a man on his knees, a Reaver ready to attack, a father fighting, a son losing hope. She listens, past the hissed pleas or roared begging, past the clang of medical instruments, past the sound of bodies falling to the floor._

_The wind changes, bringing with it that sound once more. Laughter._

_She inhales deeply and takes a step to the right._

Vera left Zoe with the children as River stood slowly, the girl turning to face her.

"What'd ya see, darlin'?"

River's skin was like ice and she was shivering despite the baking heat. Mattie whined softly, bumping against Vera's hip for comfort as his friend's voice sounded from very far away.

"Choosing a path."

The brown eyes finally met blue, and Vera swallowed thickly at the sorrow she saw there. She held firm.

"You pick the right one, darlin'?"

River reached out one hand to stroke Mattie's fur, eyes never leaving Vera's where they began to fill with tears.

"I-"

"Vera! They're back!"

Zoe's voice broke through the moment and Vera turned in time to see Serenity make her landing a few clearings over. She turned back to River, frustrated but unsurprised that the girl's face was no longer clouded with the future.

"Ok darlin', we'll talk 'bout this later?"

River watched as Vera and Mattie began to head back to the house. She bent, stroking one hand through her daughter's hair as she watched the black haired Grandmother stride back through the forest alongside Zoe and Matthew, unaware of the cool, hollow voice heard only by Tali.

"No…we won't."

* * *

Former Lieutenant Womack watched the woman perform onstage. This planet was the back end of hell, and hot as it too, but at least there was no shortage of quim. A serving girl placed his beer in front of him, twitching her hips away from Skunks grabby hands. He ignored his subordinate, continuing to stare at the woman onstage.

He took a sip of the beer. "So, this is Purgatum."

Womack looked at the two men seated across from him. He and his cronies had landed on Purgatum only an hour beforehand, and he already hated it here. The day had been so scorching hot he was already turning an angry shade of red, while the night began to settle in. Still, the bar was well stocked, in more ways than one.

If the men across the table from him were insulted by his lack of eye contact it didn't show.

Of course, very little seemed to.

The taller of the two men nodded. "Indeed. You understand what is needed?"

Womack nodded, watching carefully as the blonde onstage stripped off to a miniscule bra and panties set.

"You boys want a distraction, right?"

The second man nodded, neither of the suits moving their hands from their laps. Womack was annoyed but unsurprised; he had been warned they might be a little fickle. Still, the job would pay more than well, as would the little side errands the other man had him run on his way out here.

After being let go from the force after all that Miranda _guay _there had seemed little choice but to get into private consultations.

A position that would have been much easier had Captain Reynolds and his _go tsao de _crew had not ruined his prime collection role by siding with that moron ex-soldier.

A few years of petty jobs involving low end organs and the bodies that carried them meant he was more than happy to sign on for such a big job. He'd never taken live cargo before, especially not like this. He was excited for the challenge.

And if it meant tearing Reynolds to pieces? All the better.

He clicked his fingers at Skunk, still not looking away from the now naked woman undulating onstage.

"Got your play kit?"

He didn't need to turn to see Skunk's wide grin, and the metallic click of the lighter made Womack smile. The two men in suits sitting across the table from him looked at one another, and then back to Womack. The first exacted a precise nod, and the arrangements were set.

Womack stared as the woman ground and writhed.

He still had a few hours to kill.

Good times.

* * *

"What do you mean, help?"

Mal rubbed his temples, looking around at the assembled crew. They had landed back on Purgatum an hour ago. Zoe had quickly disappeared with Wash; he knew they had taken Matthew for a walk, needing to be together. By the time they returned it was dinner, and most of the crew were now seated around the table. River had let Tali run to her father, who had moved to the kitchen with his mother and Mattie. Mal wondered what Jayne had told his mother, and hoped Vera would talk some sense into him.

The trip back from Persephone had been horrible. Jayne had refused, point blank, to discuss the issue until they were back on Purgatum. No matter how right Simon was in reminding the Captain that Jayne needed to breathe and run out the energy before they discussed a thing, Mal was still pissed. Now his merc was sitting heavily, just long enough to eat before he, Vera and Mattie left for their night hunting. Tali stayed comfortable on her father's lap, and Mal suspected River was outside for the moment.

They didn't stay in the same room anymore, not after that night.

"Ain't nuthin' ta discuss; I'm meetin' him."

Mal struggled not to yell. "Jayne, I ain't sayin' we don't want to hear what this fella has to say."

From his position at the end of the galley table Simon's voice was tense. "It took six months to accumulate enough data to even know what The Program was; every person involved went up in the explosion back on Purgatum. How could this man possibly-"

"It's a trap." Book's voice was calm and even, but suddenly Mal was sent back over two years ago.

"_It's a trap."_

_Kaylee's eyes were reproachful._

"_How do you know that Inara just don't want to see you? People have feelings sometimes. I'm referring to _people_ here."_

_His face was unchanged. "Y'all were watchin' I take it?"_

_They nodded awkwardly, and he pretended not to see the protein snaps. "Did you see us fight?"_

_Kaylee shook her head. "No."_

"_Trap."_

Mal looked over to Kaylee, his little ray of sunshine. She didn't argue with Book, and when their eyes met Mal knew she was remembering the same moment all that time ago. She was seeing his eyes back then, flat and emotionless and telegraphing everything through their flat emotion. She was seeing him pretend to focus on anything but Inara and the fact that she got away.

Time passes, everything changes, and everything stays the same.

Book continued, unaware of the moments passing between mechanic and Captain. "Somehow this man has obtained information, and he knew Badger would get it to you. Jayne, I cannot possibly see a scenario where this is not a trap."

"And?"

Wash wasn't looking up from his beer, though Mal was fairly sure he hadn't drunk any yet.

"So what if it's a trap?"

Mal quirked a brow. "Well, those rarely work out so well for us…"

Wash's voice was flat. "And things are working now?"

When Wash looked up Mal was struck by how hollow his face could look, and was reminded of just how much his pilot and first mate still needed answers. Zoe's face was equally firm, and Mal thought about his godson, sleeping soundly in their room.

Wash continued, standing and looking around the table. "Seriously, is this working? Can anyone say they're actually happy?"

His voice was picking up urgency, and Mal studied the faces around the table. No one was arguing.

Why would they?

Wash was becoming more and more agitated. "Can we please just be honest for a minute? This isn't life. This isn't ANYTHING!" Wash's shout made Tali jump, the little girl squirming into her father, who placed an arm around her protectively.

Zoe reached out to her husband, but her reassuring hand did nothing to slow his pace, or his volume. "No, NO. I am done with this; WE'RE WAITING. We're always waiting! Waiting for Simon to make a breakthrough, waiting to figure out how to help MY SON, waiting for Jayne to shoot himself in the _gorram_ head!"

Some of the crew flinched but still no one said a word, not even Jayne. It wasn't like it wasn't true. Every day that passed brought him closer to the edge, and the only thing keeping him back was currently nuzzling into his neck. Mal watched as Wash stood.

"Captain, I'm done. We're done. This…this can't be our life anymore."

He strode to his bedroom, and Zoe stood, eyes locking on to Jayne's while addressing Mal. "It's definitely a trap, sir."

She looked up at the Captain. "I just don't know if that should stop us going."

She followed her husband into the bedroom, the quiet click of the door deafening in the silent room. Kaylee's voice was quiet and filled with worry.

"What now?"

Mal wished he had an answer. He wished he could tell her that now they'd go, find this man, and he'd give them a magic potion. That Jayne and Matthew would be fixed, that River and Natalia would no longer be considered a genetic goldmine, that they could fly off into the Black and live happily ever after, visiting on their terms, when they wanted.

He couldn't think of a thing to say, but someone could.

"We need information." Inara's voice was composed, and he could tell she was doing the calm, overly polite thing that helped her keep her control. It rubbed him all kinds of wrong.

"Oh, it's 'we' now? Though you was leaving."

She looked at him serenely, though he could see the hurt behind her eyes as she stood, moving out of the room without another word. Mal was very briefly tempted to punch himself in the head, but the hurt look his mechanic shot him was doing that just fine.

Ginger's voice was firm and calm from across the table. "You need to contact this man."

Mal watched as Jayne stayed still and silent, one arm slung around Natalia's waist as the other moved gently over her hair. He saw Simon studying the mercenary carefully, and he thought about their earlier conversation on the journey back to Purgatum.

_Simon was in the infirmary, carefully repositioning things. Mal knew it was a habit, a way to try to control things when the rest of the world was determined to be out of control. The doctor was currently stacking gauze into neat piles set at varying angles, to make for quicker removal when there was need to use them._

"_Doc, a word?"_

_Simon nodded, continuing with his task. "No one."_

_Mal stopped by the bed. "_Shenme_?"_

_Simon glanced up at him. "You want to know who else might have heard about The Program, if anyone might have been connected to it who Jayne didn't…who is still alive. Off the top of my head; no one."_

_Mal nodded, sitting on the bed. "Right."_

_Simon studied him for a moment. "There's no magic cure, Mal."_

_Mal didn't move, staring at those gauze piles as Simon continued._

"_This isn't some disease they've caught. It's bonded with their systems, it's been reinforced and ratified; there is no longer an Ares virus in them, just the results."_

_Mal looked at Simon's tired eyes. "You don't know what to do, do you?"_

_Simon shook his head. "No. I don't know how to help them…and I need to help them. Before it's too late. I wish we knew for sure this was all finished."_

_Book entered on the last note. "We definitely do not."_

_Mal watched Book turning his head to see them both, patch covering the obliterated eye socket. "Got a view you wanna weigh in here, preacher?"_

_Book ignored the title. "I would only wonder who instigated everything."_

"_What do you mean?"_

_Book leaned heavily in the doorway. "The Academy, The Program, the hunt for River…who pulled the strings there? Was it just higher up members of the Alliance or was it…someone else?"_

_Mal watched as Book's eye went a little far away. "You got a memory tickling you?"_

_Book came back to reality. "No, yes…maybe."_

_Mal watched him for a minute before something Simon said came back to him. "What do you mean, 'too late'?"_

_Simon inhaled and exhaled very slowly. "We don't know what will happen when Matthew hits puberty. We have no clue what will happen to Tali, either."_

_Mal watched him very, very carefully. "You're scared Matthew might hurt her?"_

_Simon held his gaze and didn't say a word._

_Mal narrowed his eyes. "No, not just Matthew."_

_The Captain shook his head. "The records, they make it sound like there ain't no other Breeders left after…"_

_His voice trailed off under Simon's blank, emotionless stare. No matter what they assumed about The Program, they knew of the existence of one other Mature Alpha Breeder. An MA Breeder who was currently working out in their cargo bay._

"_Doc, that…that ain't-"_

"_We know nothing for certain." Book's voice was firm, almost harsh, and brooked no argument. Simon offered no further discussion, and Mal was able to admit that he wasn't strong enough to continue. As they exited the infirmary they couldn't have known that Wash was moving back to the galley, or that Jayne was leaning against the staircase just outside._

_The pilot was quiet over dinner, and Jayne didn't come out of his bunk._

Mal shook his head to come out of his reverie, only to find Jayne's eyes pinning him down. One massive arm tightened around Tali's waist, and Mal knew they were going to Wave this contact.

There was no other choice.

Vera stood. "Can't do nuthin' til y'all have more information. Best ta get some sleep and look over it in the morning."

She moved away from the table as she continued. "Get ta bed, keep warm."

Her eyes rested briefly on her son. "It's going to rain later tonight."

* * *

He adjusted the collar of his shirt, double checking his reflection in the window.

He turned to another wave screen where two men in simple suits were waiting for him. He couldn't see their hands but knew they would be covered in the blue body armour that protected the rest of their torsos.

"What do you know?"

The first man nodded politely. "Everything we need to."

The man in the beautiful suit nodded, calmly ignoring the corpse in the background. "And of our soon to be arriving guests?"

The second man nodded. "There may be delays between packages, but everything is falling into place as planned."

The man in the beautiful suit smiled. "And Womack, has he been suitably useful?"

The first man offered a stiff smile. "We believe he will be most distracting indeed."

The man in the beautiful suit gave a charming chuckle. "Wonderful, I'm thrilled."

Both men nodded simultaneously. "We must await our cargo, and begin preparations for transport."

"Excellent, report back when you have things underway."

The wave flicked off at the same time as he flicked on his intercom. "Susan, could you please send me another martini, and put me through to the Tam residence?"

He waited a moment before turning to his last wave screen.

"Regan, darling. How lovely to see you."


End file.
